Symptoms of Life

Ever since I was six years old I wanted to be an Olympic Champion.

I wanted to stand on the top of the podium and watch as they waved my flag and played my nations anthem. I wanted my family to cry and I wanted my friends to scream. In 2012 at the age of 15 I came in third place with my partner for women’s ten-meter platform. Although it was unheard of for a kid to place so well standing at the bottom of the platform wasn’t good enough.

2012 was going to be my year. Florence Todd was going to stand on top. She was going to make her country proud. I was going to win. Coming in third wasn’t good enough.

When I was eleven years old I was pulled out of school. There wasn’t enough time to practice when your entire life was consumed with one thing: bringing home the gold.

I knew every trick, I pushed the boundaries with hours of gymnastics, belly flops, and weight lifting. My partner, Alice, and I were twins. We flipped faster and hit a better vertical every god damn day. Despite the fact that we hated each other, we were inseparable.

Diving consumed my life. It was all I wanted.

“So Florence, what do you want to be?” The guidance counsellor asked, and I blinked sitting back down into the real world.

My hands picked mercilessly at the mandatory black slacks. They were too lose and consistently got caught in the hinge that was now my knee. The answer to the question was no brainer, and as I glanced around at the numerous pamphlets all across the room my mind focused.

“Dead.” I replied, clasping my hands together to keep from fidgeting and sitting back in the chair.

Mrs. Lowen, the guidance worker shook her head slowly. The smile had fallen away from her face thirty minutes ago. Her face, wrinkled with the stress of teenagers, grimaced, as she thought about what David, my father, might say. “Let’s try for something more attainable.”